Ensconced Identities: Facades
by Zenith1
Summary: Running incognito with a pack of her most vehement adversaries, Hermione must rely on herself to survive...D/HR


Disclaimer: I don't own anything 'cept the lovely little iced cappucino I'm drinking right now. So sweet, so refreshing…*ahem* Anyway, you get the picture.  
  
A.N.: Alright, it's kinda confusing in the beginning, so give me a couple chapters to sort it out. Any helpful tips on my style would be unimaginably appreciated (I tend to write too elaborately). ^_^  
  
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A patina of dust settled over the desolate town. Its once glorious beauty now lay in heaps of rubble on the shattered streets. Amongst the carnage, a robust wizard was magically driving a string of manacled muggles from his position on a canopied carriage that they pulled for him. Dirt and grit smeared the tunics they had been forced to don, and their feet were calloused from the harsh walking conditions on which they tread. The majority of them were going on the sole anticipation of the night's rest, which would be beginning soon. Only six hours to go…  
  
She felt the tug on her chains as someone fell in their traces. Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to look as green light engulfed the vicinity. There was nothing she could do, nothing to stop them. Her eyes unfocused as she sent out a mental plea. Harry, please hurry…  
  
*flashback*  
  
They could hear the tramping of many feet coming towards them. The secret door would not hold out for long against their vigorous barrage of "alohomora's".  
  
"It's no use, Harry; they've already found us. Ron's waiting for us in the Shrieking Shack. One of must survive to meet him."  
  
"No, 'Mione. We'll leave together."  
  
Exasperated, the 20-year-old tried to explain. "If no one is here when they break down the door, they'll get suspicious. Our side needs you more than they do me and you know it. You're all the motivation our soldiers have. Just go."  
  
"We'll go together or we won't go at all," he stated resolutely.  
  
She ground her teeth together agitatedly. His obstinacy could be a pain. The creak of the door loudly interrupted what she was going to say. Without thinking, she shoved him into the fire and watched him disappear. When he was out of sight, she threw in the rest of the floo powder and doused the fire to extinguish the evidence, waiting for the oncoming capture. So this was what it had come down to. Two years of battling Voldemort's forces alongside her best friends had resulted in the inevitable capture. The door finally gave way and she turned to face her enemies…  
  
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They had taken her captive and were escorting her to the Manor. Suddenly a scuffle broke out in the middle of a string of imprisoned muggles. Amongst the confusion, she slipped away, her escorts desperately trying to control the maddened humans. But there had been nowhere to run; they were in the middle of a wizard camp and they had confiscated her wand. The magical Apparition-inhibiting spell they had placed on her was still going strong. So she'd done the only thing she could do. Join the depressed ranks of people. Summoning her strength, she focused on the inner workings of the spell she was casting and braced herself for the jarring sensation she knew would come. So many times in her advanced studies she'd read about the history of wands. They served only to refine magic, a catalyst, it could be called, to aid in performing magic. That being said, Hermione's quick mind immediately concluded that though extremely difficult, casting magic could still be done without a wand and had practiced all of seventh year in secret. That skill had saved her life now.  
  
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They had stopped now and were setting up camp. The sadness around her was palpable. In the shadow of a wilted bush, she could see a child curled around itself, nursing a bloodied hand. Tired as she was, she crawled over to it, placing both her hands around the injured one. The child looked up at her, big teary eyes glistening. Hermione closed her eyes and reached insider herself for the core of magic. It was draining, utterly draining, but she forced herself to continue, imagining the reparation of the injured hand vividly in her mind, repeating the incantation she had learned as a student at Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey had finally gotten tired of treating superficial cuts caused by interhouse (mainly Slytherin and Gryffindor) scuffles, and had set up a club in which participants could learn the rudimentaries of the art of healing incantations. When she had finished, she looked into the child's eyes. That pair of bright, grateful eyes was the last thing she saw before everything blacked out.  
  
  
  
  
  
Faintly, she could hear a pair of voices heatedly exchanging words. Cracking open one fatigued eyelid, she could make out a small form that was unfamiliar to her. He was not any of the Minions that had been leading their group of muggles.  
  
"Why didn't you enter this one into the registry? You know that the Master specifically ordered us to transport any Mudblood of remarkable appearance to the Manor."  
  
"Honestly, I didn't know we had this one! Besides, the Master has so many already, he could save a little fun for us…"  
  
He was interrupted by a shriek. "Crucio!"  
  
Instantly the rotund man who had led them on the weary trek was on the ground, rolling in agony. When the petite man finally released him, he was panting heavily.  
  
"I hope you have learned your lesson," he spat. He turned to a pair of lanky spectators and motioned them forwards. "Take this one back to the castle. Don't let the Master know we've slipped on his orders; go in through the back. If we're lucky he won't have time to notice the new addition in his registry and wonder which regiment it came from." He turned to the fallen man on the ground. "The Master is making his rounds tonight. You are quite lucky we have come in time to take her off your hands."  
  
The whole conversation was confusing to her, and she dimly registered hands roughly grabbing her. With a pop, she was suddenly carried away from the clearing.  
  
When she was fully conscious again, she found herself in a stone structure. Another cursory look told her she was in the kitchen, a very large kitchen at that. Rubbing her eyes slowly, she sat up. The two men who had taken her here were talking to a hooded figure down a narrow corridor within view of her. Looking down at a stray, greasy pot beside her, she gasped in horror. Silky, sleek auburn hair, despite it being slightly disheveled and dirty, framed a delicately featured face. Her hazel eyes, which had lightened inexplicably from her Hogwarts' years brown, were finely shaped and stared back at her alluringly, set in ivory skin. She looked anxiously over her shoulder at the trio conversing, hoping that they hadn't noticed she'd awoken. They hadn't. Slowly backing out of the open door, she slipped out stealthily and backed herself against the wall. Squeezing her eyes shut, she hoped this wouldn't be a repeat of her previous attempt at magic where she'd found herself unconscious. Due to her lack of energy, her glamour had fallen apart, and now she had to rebuild it once again. Darken the hair, elongate the nose, blotch the skin… She could hear the guards' startled cries as they found their captive gone and sped up her thought process, pouring in all the energy she'd gained from her unconscious slumber.  
  
When the two rounded the corner of the castle, they found a petite, blotchy- skinned kitchen servant diligently plucking mushrooms out of the garden. The slave's hair was oily and unruly, hanging limply about a gaunt, oval face. The deadened, near-black eyes set in the head did nothing to hide the uncommonly high-bridged nose. Fighting his obvious repulsion, one of the guards moved forward, hailing the servant. When she did not respond, he tentatively touched her, at once wiping his hand on his pristine robes.  
  
"You, there. Listen to me-this is very important. There was a very pretty muggle girl lying unconscious in the door of the kitchen. Do you know where she went?"  
  
The servant shook her head.  
  
"Are you sure, now? She had golden brown hair, ivory skin, around 5'5"?"  
  
The slave's face twisted into a frown of thought that made her repulsive face even more so. Finally she shrugged her shoulders. The guard let out a shout of frustration and tramped off, the other soldier in his wake. 


End file.
